nd his wife in the
hour that followed. The bateau kept abreast of the raft, moving neither
faster nor slower than it did, and twice he surrendered to the desire
to scan the deck of the floating timbers through his binoculars. But
the cabin held St. Pierre and Marie-Anne, and he saw neither of them
again until the sun was setting. Then St. Pierre came out--alone.

Even at that distance over the broad river he heard the booming voice
of the chief of the Boulains. Life sprang up where there had been the
drowse of inactivity aboard the raft. A dozen more of the great sweeps
were swiftly manned by men who appeared suddenly from the shaded places
of canvas shelters and striped tents. A murmur of voices rose over the
water, and then the murmur was broken by howls and shouts as the
rivermen ran to their places at the command of St. Pierre's voice, and
as the sweeps began to flash in the setting sun, it gave way entirely
to the evening chant of the Paddling Song.

David gripped himself as he listened and watched the slowly drifting
glory of the world that came down to the shores of the river. He could
see St. Pierre clearly, for the bateau had worked its way nearer. He
could see the bare heads and naked arms of the rivermen at the sweeps.
The sweet breath of the forests filled his lungs, as that picture lay
before him, and there came into his soul a covetousness and a yearning
where before there had been humiliation and the grim urge of duty. He
could breathe the air of that world, he could look at its beauty, he
could worship it--and yet he knew that he was not a part of it as those
others were a part of it. He envied the men at the sweeps; he felt his
heart swelling at the exultation and joy in their song. They were going
home--home down the big rivers, home to the heart of God's Country,
where wives and sweethearts and happiness were waiting for them, and
their visions were his visions as he stared wide-eyed and motionless
over the river. And yet he was irrevocably an alien. He was more than
that--an enemy, a man-hound sent out on a trail to destroy, an agent of
a powerful and merciless force that carried with it punishment and
death.

The crew of the bateau had joined in the evening song of the rivermen
on the raft, and over the ridges and hollows of the forest tops, red
and green and gold in the last warm glory of the sun, echoed that
chanting voice of men. David understood now what St. Pierre's command
had been. The hug